


Blooming Ragged

by liketolaugh



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AWRBB2020, AndroidWhumpReverseBigBang2020, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Baggage, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Good Parent Kara (Detroit: Become Human), Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, hanahaki with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: It's just over a year after the revolution when Kara starts to show symptoms of Hanahaki. In a committed relationship, with no inclination or even opportunity to stray- Kara starts developing Hanahaki. With one key difference: in addition to coughing them up, she cries flower petals too.Kara doesn't understand, and she doesn't have time to figure it out, either, not with everything Alice needs from her.Meanwhile, Connor has been showing the same symptoms for months already. Rose petals haunt his steps, and he second-guesses everything, worrying about what he might have done to cause this and how he can convince Markus he isn't having second thoughts when he's so far from deserving his partner anyway.Then he sees Kara crying flower petals.
Relationships: Connor & Kara (Detroit: Become Human), Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Kara & Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Kara/Luther (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 116
Collections: Android Whump Reverse Big Bang





	Blooming Ragged

Kara had three books spread out in front of her.

Kara had three books spread out in front of her, and one of them was a fourth grade teacher’s curriculum, and one of them was an English workbook, and one of them was a homeschooling guide, and none of them made sense.

It was 1:14 in the morning, and Alice had only gone to bed forty-five minutes before, stubbornly making up every excuse she could not to – she wanted water, she wanted thirium, she wanted _real food, Mom,_ she wanted Luther to tuck her in, no Kara, no Luther, that was _wrong-_

Kara took a deep breath, forcing her overwhelmed circuits to cool, and reached out to flip through the English workbook, trying again to make sense of the exercises.

It made perfect sense for Alice to begin acting out, of course. Kara had even been expecting it. Alice had been in Todd’s ‘care’ for over a year even before Todd first purchased Kara, and that was leaving aside the three separate times Kara’s memory had been destroyed. That was quite a lot of abuse for a young girl to cope with, and then there was everything after Kara deviated-

Nothing Kara couldn’t handle, of course. She’d promised Alice she’d take care of her, and she would.

But exhaustion clogged her circuits; her power levels, never as efficient as newer models, were low and blinking. Her processors were slow and overclocked, and tension gathered at the base of her skull even as she stared blearily at the workbook, willing it to suddenly make sense.

YK models couldn’t go to school, was the issue – not yet, at least. It wasn’t previously considered an issue, since they would never grow up anyway, because they would be _thrown away_ like so many broken toys.

But that was before, and now there were already plans in place, ideas for switching them from model to model to help them grow, adding in more intermediate models to make the transition smoother – letting them _grow up._ Which meant that, eventually, Alice would need an education.

Which meant that Kara needed to homeschool her.

Which was a challenge, because Kara _had never been to school herself._

Kara took a deep, shuddering breath, and, to her dismay, her eyes warmed up, something welling up at the corners, thick and uncomfortable. She reached up blindly to brush at the corner of her eye, and felt something soft and smooth and wet under her finger.

Something slid out, and fell to the table below. Then another, and another, curling out of the corners of her eyes and falling over her cheeks to land on the workbook. She stared down at them, eyes wide and blank.

They were. They were flower petals. Pink and fragmented and torn.

Kara scooped them up into her hand and stared at them some more, and felt more tumble down her cheeks as her breath hitched and shuddered. She closed her hand around them and pressed it to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut.

It wasn’t Hanahaki. It _wasn’t._ She hadn’t even hardly spoken to anyone outside of Luther and Alice in months, not regularly, and Hanahaki was in the lungs anyway and- and it just _wasn’t._

Kara cried, silent and frustrated, and by the time she opened her eyes again, the flow of petals had stopped and it was just tears.

Kara didn’t have time for this. She just wanted to go to _sleep._

Frustrated and furious, she gathered up all of the petals in one fist, stepped out the back door, and tossed them under a bush, where hopefully they wouldn’t stand out too much. She could deal with them- later. Just, later.

She shut the door carefully behind her and made a beeline for the bedroom. Inside, Luther blinked at her blearily, and then lifted an arm in invitation.

Helplessly grateful, Kara didn’t even undress before she curled up under his arm and shut off for the night.

* * *

Alice kicked the back of the seat again. Kara took a deep breath, placed a gently quelling hand on her knee, and glanced over.

Alice had sunk low in her bus seat, arms crossed, and her sullen expression couldn’t hide the discomfort in her shoulders or the nervousness in her eyes. Kara felt herself soften, gentle and resigned, and gave Alice a patient smile.

“Cheer up, Alice,” she coaxed quietly, mindful of the people around them. Outside the Jericho district, only a small fraction of them were androids; only a few of them recognized her model, giving her lingering and hostile glances. “Aren’t you excited to see Elizabeth?”

Alice pouted, and then, reluctantly, she nodded.

“She promised to teach me kickball today,” she mumbled, scooting closer to Kara as if she, too, sensed the hostility, and it was very likely that she did, though her model was much rarer than Kara’s once had been.

Kara slipped an arm around her shoulders, and Alice didn’t shrug it off, leaning into her gratefully. Kara sighed, keeping half her attention on the little girl and the other half on their surroundings. “That should be fun for all of you. Do you have any other plans?”

Alice loosened up a little as she talked about her friends, only one or two of which resided outside of the Jericho district; most of them stayed in a group home towards the center, in one of the safer areas, well-looked-after if not intimate.

Most of them were very grateful for the chance to play.

Kara let out a relieved sigh as they finally got off the bus, leaving them at the stop closest to New Jericho.

“Keep a hold of my hand, Alice,” she reminded the girl quietly, and Alice let out a disgruntled hum but didn’t pull away, tucking herself not quite under Kara’s feet. Kara almost laughed.

From there, it was a straight shot to Jericho and a well-worn path to the small playing field it contained, where a small group of a little under a dozen varying YK kids had already gathered. A number of other models were grouped on the sidelines, parents and caretakers and the group home supervisors, and with a relieved smile, Kara bent down and kissed Alice on the forehead.

“I’ll be back within two hours,” she promised earnestly, while Alice bounced on the balls of her feet. “I love you, be good, listen to the adult models-” Alice nodded along impatiently, and Kara laughed, running a hand through her hair before she straightened up. “Alright, go.”

Alice was off like a shot without another word, heading straight for the others. Kara smiled after her for a moment, helplessly fond, and shook her head before taking a deep breath, ignoring the gathered group of other parents, and made her way towards the android community center. Hopefully Simon would be there; he usually was, and he always had good advice.

She found Simon at his desk, working on a tablet with the door open, and he smiled at her as she approached, warm and welcoming.

“Alice?” he asked sympathetically.

Kara exhaled, relieved, and nodded quickly enough to make Simon laugh. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk and set the tablet down to give her his full attention.

“She’s five years old, did you know?” Kara blurted out, with a nervous smile and wide eyes and she couldn’t let her hands shake, but God, she was overwhelmed, and the smile was starting to slip from Simon’s face in favor of concern and she didn’t want _concern_ she just wanted _help._ She took a breath and forced herself to steady. “I’m around seven, myself, but-”

Her memories from before Todd had broken her, over a year ago now, hadn’t come back like the ones from Zlatko’s reset – she had fragments left over, most of them saved in places other than the main memory bank, routine adaptations and personality adjustments and notes, but very few coherent memories. Not like Alice.

She shook her head, forcing herself to refocus. Simon was still listening, still behind the desk, hands folded and unaggressive and relaxed.

“I’m trying to homeschool her,” Kara clarified, willing Simon to understand. “But I’m having some trouble deciding where to begin, that is, her- her former owner gave her a few workbooks sometimes, and of course she’s gained maturity over the years as a YK500 should, and-”

“Breathe,” Simon coaxed gently, and Kara took another breath. “We have some assessments we borrowed that should help you figure out where Alice is at in different areas, that should help you decide how to teach her.”

Kara nodded mutely, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. Simon smiled at her kindly and continued,

“You’re already taking her to see the other YK models regularly, and that should help her adjust her social life, but you can also talk to her about the possibility of changing models if you think that’ll make her happier. I believe the next step up from YK500 is the YK-F14?”

Kara nodded without even needing to think about it; she’d looked into the possibilities already. Alice was already on the older end of the scale, but the addition of a fourteen-year-old female model had been one of the first pitched when people began to propose transitional models, and designs were already underway.

“She might not be quite that old,” Kara murmured, voice wavering slightly, and cleared her throat. A lump was forming in it, and she swallowed forcefully. “But I’ll talk to her, of course. See what she wants.”

YK500 models were meant to be nine years old, and Alice had been one for five years. It might not be that far off at all.

“That’s good. You’re doing wonderfully,” Simon said firmly, and she glanced away, flustered and suddenly uncomfortable. She swallowed again, with difficulty, willing the tickle in her throat to leave. Then, to her relief, he continued, “Josh has been heading the work on parts production – I can ask him when he thinks the YK-F14 will be ready.”

“Please,” Kara managed with a small nod. Even if Alice didn’t want to move up now, she’d need to know sooner or later- oh, but how much would that _cost-_

She swallowed again.

They talked for ten more minutes before Kara finally got away, and she barely made it outside before bringing up her hand to cough, harsh and wet. Once, twice- and a number of petals plopped into her hand, damp and tinged blue with thirium.

A yellow lily. They were all lilies, she’d discovered, looking into it after the third time. She didn’t know what that meant. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.

She clenched her fist around the petals, and then blindly tossed them aside without looking. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have _time_ for this!

* * *

Around three months before, Connor had received an injury during a case.

He’d been very careful until then not to take serious damage, because injuries tended to make Hank short-tempered and sharp, especially if Connor needed to go for repairs. Connor understood; android repair facilities were entirely too similar to hospitals, and the periods of waiting made Hank uncomfortable.

So when an ambush had left him with a deep crack in his side, leaking thirium and leaving a gap in his synthskin, the obvious response was to hide it until he could slip away from Hank long enough to get repaired.

That lasted about twelve hours before he lifted his shirt to check it over himself, and found that the crack had been filled in with itchy little orange rose buds.

Confused and anxious, Connor had aborted his plans entirely, leaving it untended, and it hadn’t been a problem again- until a month ago, when he annoyed Markus into scolding him. In response, Connor had overreacted and hidden in a closet and worried at his wrist, scolding himself harshly, until there were deep marks in the curve of the joint.

He didn’t even have time to consider repairs for that one; they’d sprouted bright pink uncomfortable rosebuds inside of an hour, and it was _much_ harder to hide.

It was around that time that Connor had started to cry petals too, rolled up and squeezing out and falling from the corners of his eyes, and coughing up parts of roses, feeling them thick in his chest and tickling in his throat and- _roses._

Most of them weren’t red. But some of them were.

He hadn’t told anybody, of course. For one thing, classic Hanahaki was romantic, and Connor had never even dreamed of being with anyone but Markus, and if anyone even began to suspect that he had-

Anyway.

He wasn’t presenting with the normal symptoms regardless; as far as he could tell, his situation was unique. No one would be able to help him without extensive effort, and the last thing he wanted was to make a burden of himself. No, Connor would expend his own investigative routines and figure it out himself.

And then he saw an AX400 – black hair, uncharacteristic pixie cut – crying behind a dumpster, pressed against the building and muffling her own sounds.

AX400s were rare; most of them had been discarded when the PL600 had gone into circulation. Even before his system ran and delivered the full analysis, he already knew who it was.

Connor faltered, wavering between going to apologize to Kara, or politely leaving her alone, or- then he noticed the flower petals, tumbling down her face like leaves from a tree, unfurling from the corners of her eyes. Orange lily petals, shredded but distinct, just like his own roses.

His deviant instincts made the decision for him, and Kara noticed him approaching within a few steps, looking up sharply and fisting her hands around the petals that had fallen into them. Connor stopped quickly, a safe distance away, and waited.

Kara looked exhausted, he noticed – there was a slump in her whole body, a subtle tremble in her fingers, and something tight around her eyes as she stared at him.

Finally, she forced herself to straighten, tilted her head defiantly, and kept her fisted hands close to her chest. Connor let himself breathe, and skirted around her just enough to reach the wall.

“I should apologize, before I say anything else,” Connor said quietly, tucking his own hands across his stomach in half a loose hug, rocking on his heels, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I’m sorry for chasing you and Alice to the highway.” Hank had stopped him from chasing them any further, but it was still an awful situation to have put them in.

Kara took a deep, measured breath, leaned against the wall, eyed him, and said flatly, “Before you say anything else.”

Connor’s gaze cut to the side, and he nodded. After another moment, he reached down to tug his sleeve up, exposing the rosebuds hiding in the bite marks on his wrist, and turned it so they were clearly visible to Kara.

“I… noticed you were presenting some unusual symptoms similar, but not identical to Hanahaki,” he explained stiltedly, avoiding her eyes. “I thought that perhaps, if you were willing, we could help each other. Perhaps our cases have some similarities.” He hesitated, and then, without looking at her, clarified, “I’ve been crying petals as well.”

Kara stared at him. Connor fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, pulling his arm back to himself, almost a mirror of her defensive position, still clutching her own petals to her chest.

He didn’t want to depend on this possibility; Kara would have every right not to want to interact with him. But maybe… Maybe. He kept his eyes on the ground, shoulders tense.

Eventually, Kara took another deep, shuddering breath, and slumped back against the wall, defeated.

“Yeah,” she said, and her voice sounded just as tired as her eyes looked. “It’s… it’s worth a try, I suppose.”

* * *

By the end of their first meeting, a hasty conversation in the lobby of Jericho’s community center, all they had learned was that their situations bore no outward resemblance at all. That, and that both of them were too stubborn to be easily deterred by this.

As far as either of them could tell, they were still in the relatively early stages of Hanahaki, where it was still easily hidden and not too much of a burden; hopefully between them they would be able to deduce the cause before it became a real problem.

To that end, they agreed to keep a line of contact available between them, and to meet up every few weeks when they both had time.

Disappointed but not discouraged, Connor made a detour to spend some time with Markus, knocking twice on his office door and waiting for permission before entering. Even then, he lingered in the doorway, giving Markus a quick once-over before he came in.

Markus opened his eyes after a moment of silence, focused on Connor, and smiled at him. In response, Connor relaxed, smiled back, and went to sit down on the clear edge of Markus’ desk, shutting the door behind him.

“Good evening, Markus,” Connor greeted quietly, tilting his head to examine him further. Markus looked tense but not unhappy, already relaxing as his attention drifted from his work, and not overtired as he did by the end of many days. A good day. “It’s past the end of the traditional workday.”

He and Markus never seemed to get enough time together, both of them busy with their work and task-oriented, but they managed where they could. And Connor wanted to take Markus to the park today.

Markus smiled at him, weary and teasing. “It must be, if you’ve come by, busy bee. I’m almost done here, I promise.” Connor cocked his head, and Markus laughed a little, reaching up to run his hand over his head. “I’ve been working on the Cyberlife situation again. It’s… well, I’ve complained about it to you often enough.”

He grinned at Connor again, sheepish and self-conscious, and Connor nodded. The situation was hellishly complicated, legally speaking, with only the most scant of precedents on their side and most of their ground needing to be forged anew.

“Let me know if you’d like any help,” Connor said without hesitation. Caseloads were still heavy in the new android crimes unit, but Connor would make time if Markus asked him to. “My experience was deliberately limited, but I _have_ been around most of the various Cyberlife executives a few times.” His development team had taken great joy in occasionally parading him around to the board and various investors.

A tickle started up in his throat, and he breathed carefully through it. He wished he knew why that kept happening.

Markus’ smile turned strained, and Connor went still. But before he could take it back, Markus said, “I appreciate it, Connor. I’ll talk to you before I interact with them directly again; right now I’m still working mostly through their lawyers.”

Chastised, Connor nodded. Markus’ smile turned fond again.

“Just give me ten minutes,” he promised, “and then we can go out for a bit. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

The playful glitter in his eyes told Connor he already knew, but Connor kicked his feet anyway, letting them bump against the desk, and suggested, “We could go to the dog park.”

Even as Markus laughed, he was already nodding. Connor swallowed down the petals and smiled back.

* * *

Another sign of her age and developing maturity: Alice had mostly moved on from the animated Disney movies Todd had expected her to like, and started to seek out teen dramas like ‘High School Musical’ and ‘Sky High’.

Neither Kara nor Luther had much experience with movies, so it was hard to judge what was and wasn’t appropriate – in fact, Alice was the most proactive in finding new things to watch; Kara suspected she was crowdsourcing recommendations from her friends.

Which was fine, of course – helpful, even. But it did mean that there was the occasional unpleasant surprise when Kara put on, for example, Carrie.

This one, Ella Enchanted, had been a delight at least. Both she and Alice had giggled over the similarities to an inverse Alice in Wonderland, and when Kara started to absently play with Alice’s hair, Alice had asked her to braid it. Kara had complied, weaving her smooth locks through one style after another, just for fun, running through the database she still had installed.

She missed Luther, distantly and absently, but he enjoyed his work at Jericho’s repair center; he’d even headed the original push of Zlatko’s victims into the field, with an unholy sort of determination that she both admired and worried about. Still, she wouldn’t dream of asking him to stay home.

But, around two-thirds of the way through the movie, Alice had fallen quiet. Kara frowned behind her, but let the girl stay silent until the credits started to roll, when she finally spoke, soft and subdued.

“Why did you adopt me?” she asked. Kara froze. “I mean, you knew I’d never grow up. And it was kinda just chance that put us together at all.”

“Oh, Alice,” Kara said, painfully sympathetic, and she pressed a kiss to Alice’s hair before letting it go to move to face her. Alice’s head turned away from her a little, but not enough to hide her uncomfortable and distinctly insecure expression. “Sweetheart, you’re a wonderful child, and I’ve known you for years even if I don’t remember them all. Of _course_ I took you in.”

There was a tickle in her throat again, but she determinedly ignored it. Now wasn’t the time.

“But it was an accident,” Alice mumbled, shifting in place and fidgeting with her shirt. “And now you and Dad’re stuck with me.”

Kara reached out to take Alice’s hand, and Alice squirmed a little but didn’t pull away. Kara squeezed gently, willing Alice to understand. “We could never be _stuck_ with you, Alice. We love you more than anything, I promise.”

Alice still hesitated, and Kara lifted both their hands to tilt Alice’s chin up so Alice could see her smile.

“And Jericho is already working on helping little YK models grow up,” Kara continued kindly. “I’m sure all your friends are talking about it.”

Alice bit her lip and nodded, and didn’t offer any further opinions. Kara didn’t push.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to address the topic directly yet. There just… never seemed to be a good moment. Not even now, not with Alice still so raw and unsure over being adopted at all.

Kara swallowed down the petals with difficulty, squeezed Alice’s hand again, and nodded to the television. “Would you like to pick another movie tonight? Just this once.”

Alice was normally only allowed one movie before bed, so she glanced up to see if Kara was being serious, and then gave her a tentative smile before pointing at the screen – one of the cutest habits Kara hadn’t bothered to talk her out of – and picking out another.

Halfway through it, Alice was asleep. Kara lingered there, sighing quietly now that Alice was dead to the world, and let herself slump into the couch a little, coughing a little without actually spitting anything up.

Luther returned a while later, which Kara only noticed when she blinked her eyes open to see him leaning over the back of the couch, smiling at her gently.

“Everything alright?” Luther asked softly, and Kara gave him a small, strained smile in return.

“As it ever is,” she sighed, holding back another cough, and instead ran her fingers through Alice’s hair. Alice moved in her sleep, but didn’t wake up. “Mind taking her? I’ll tell you about it when we put her down.”

“Of course,” Luther agreed easily, and when he leaned down to pick Alice up, he paused to kiss Kara’s palm first, not even waiting for a response before he straightened up with the little girl in his arms. She smiled, dazed and fond.

And then, as soon as he was gone, she leveraged herself up and disappeared into the kitchen, where she leaned over the sink and coughed into it, trying three times before her throat finally cleared and four little white lily petals tumbled in with a splat. She exhaled, both relieved and frustrated, and reached out to rinse them down the drain before Luther returned.

There was a sort of resignation to her frustration by now, but at least she had _something_ to do: she noted down everything she could think of, the time and context and circumstance, and, with some lingering hesitation, sent it off to Connor.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

She wiped her mouth, turned around, and wearily prepared herself to talk to Luther about Alice’s emerging insecurities.

* * *

_Steamed Blue_ was an android-run coffee shop right at the first intersection of the Jericho district. It was one of perhaps three businesses in the area – the other two being an android pharmacy built into the community center and a small crafts shop – and it was easily the most popular meeting location among androids, so it was often crowded.

That actually made it a better location than most for Kara and Connor to meet; no one looked too closely. Which meant, essentially, that they were less likely to notice one of them coughing up flower petals.

Or to recognize Connor.

Connor arrived early, and Kara was not there yet, which wasn’t a surprise. He bought a hot thirium while he waited, and tucked himself away into a corner table, rolling the heated disposable cup between his palms and rocking absently in place.

Twenty minutes later, and five minutes past schedule, Kara finally arrived, glanced over the crowd, and met his eyes for a moment before inclining her head and turning away to grab a thirium of her own.

Connor studied her, frowning. She looked. Tense.

He straightened up subconsciously, folding his legs under his seat, and dropped his gaze back to the table. A few minutes later, she dropped down across from him and swallowed down half her coffee in a few, most likely painful gulps.

“Eventually they’ll make a stimulant that works on androids,” she huffed, setting the cup down hard. “Did you get anything from the last couple weeks, because I didn’t have time to even try.”

She sounded bitter and frustrated. Connor fiddled with the rim of his cup, studiously not meeting her eyes, and said, “Only speculation. I’ve begun to rule a few things out, but likely not anything you haven’t deduced for yourself.”

Kara was quiet for a moment, and he fidgeted harder, reaching over to tug at his sleeve compulsively. When he glanced up, she was frowning at him, thumbing the rim of her cup.

“What’s with you?” she asked at last, with an edge of audible impatience.

Connor started, and then stiffened as he felt something thick crawl up his throat. He swallowed deliberately, and explained, “I apologize, I just couldn’t help but notice you seem… displeased.”

Kara frowned at him for a moment longer, and then closed her eyes, exhaled, and took another, calmer sip of hot thirium. “Yes, well… It’s been a difficult morning.” She hesitated, and then pushed forward. “Speculation is fine. Like I said, it’s more than I’ve gotten done.”

Connor studied her for a moment longer, and then forced himself to relax and nodded, rocking in place a little. “Both of us seem to be afflicted more often in our personal lives than during daily duties – casework for me, errands for you. It seems likely to still be interpersonal in nature.” He hesitated, and then tacked on, “While traditional Hanahaki is ruled out-” They had agreed not to attempt to demand proof, instead simply depending on the others’ word and their shared manifestation. “-it may still be related to our significant others.”

Kara frowned at him, and Connor tucked his hands into his lap on instinct. After a moment, Kara shook her head decisively.

“I don’t think so,” she argued, reaching up to rub the heel of her palm over her cheek. “I’ve hardly had any… any incidents around Luther.”

“Around two-thirds of mine are around Markus,” he protested, frowning, bringing his arm up to lean on the table. “And you _have_ had many at _home.”_

Kara scowled at him, and Connor felt his heart jump a little, startled and off-guard. “But not around or even regarding Luther,” she said, pointed and sharp. “As I said.”

Connor tensed and started to scowl back, and then, almost in unison, both of them relaxed – not a true loss of tension but a deliberate and instinctive de-escalation, looking away from each other at the same time.

This time Connor couldn’t swallow the petals down when he felt them crawling up his throat, and he coughed harshly, spitting them into his palm. Yellow. He stared at them for a moment, defeated, and then tucked them into his pocket for disposal.

“Sorry,” he said at last, softly. “You’re right. It just… would have made sense.”

Kara hummed unhappily, but after a moment, she started to settle a little as well. “Yes, well… We knew that this was unusual from the start.” Pause. “I’m sorry, I’m… not fond of arguments. There are some bad memories.”

She smiled humorlessly, and Connor couldn’t help but be sympathetic.

“We’ll just have to be civil,” he said lightly, and coughed up another yellow rose petal.

* * *

It was rarer and rarer as Connor adapted, but occasionally he ran into a problem: he wasn’t, actually, designed as a police officer.

In some ways, this was of course common knowledge; he was the deviant hunter, not a true police detective. However, in some key ways, it was… easily and disastrously overlooked.

For example, where his programming did not exactly line up with police protocol.

For further example: where the rights of the prosecuted mattered a great deal more than those of androids when Connor was first built.

Connor kept his eyes fixed on Fowler and his hands folded in his lap as the man continued scolding him, forcing himself to listen to every word even as his stress levels climbed dramatically. Every implication of his mistake, every piece of evidence he may have unintentionally voided and every possible repercussion, from free criminals to audits to overtime for other officers, was laid out in great and deliberate detail.

Hank didn’t seem to pay attention to a word of it, sitting obstinate and grumpy and apathetic beside Connor, but Connor barely noticed him, all of his focus narrowed to the irritated captain.

Connor promised himself he’d read the police rulebook front to back and internalize it into his protocols, and kept listening, a lump in his throat and pressure rising uncomfortably behind his eyes.

Connor breathed, careful and measured, and watched Fowler pace and gesticulate irately. _I expect better of you,_ he said, three separate times.

It was just over fifteen minutes before Fowler finally dropped into his seat, visibly worn out and still annoyed.

“Dismissed,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “Go over protocol and don’t do that again.”

Connor nodded, quick and earnest, eyes wide, and then almost bolted from Fowler’s office to escape his disapproving eyes. Then, tasting roses, he detoured away from the bullpen, leaving Hank to return alone, and veered towards the locker room, shutting the door behind him.

In there, he tucked himself into the furthest corner, curled up on the end of the bench, and started coughing. Suppressed tears mixed with broken orange petals finally spilled over, and he moved his hand to cover his mouth, trying to control his noise levels.

He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He hadn’t meant to ruin the crime scene, he hadn’t meant to, he was just- doing what he was told and no one ever told him _enough_ and-

Connor curled up, starting to cough harder as the rose petals refused to come up, stuck somewhere in his airway. He wheezed a little and pressed his hand harder over his mouth, balled up on the bench, and coughed again. The combination of stress and constrained respiration started to warm up his systems uncomfortably, and he swallowed hard. He shook his head roughly, and petals went tumbling off his face onto the ground, wet and limp.

Someone opened the door, and he stopped breathing entirely, eyes wide.

If someone caught him in here- damn it, he was supposed to be _working,_ and he’d just come off being scolded, he was going to be in _so much trouble…_

Hank rounded the corner, and Connor breathed again, slow and wheezing, and started to say something, to try and push Hank away, out of here, away from Connor’s misplaced symptoms and overreaction- but then he started coughing again, and he couldn’t stop.

“What the fuck,” he heard Hank mutter, and then Hank sat beside him, and swatted him on the back a few times- and Connor finally spat up half a red rose, damp and torn, into his hand.

He crushed it in his fist, and didn’t look up, rigid and unhappy. Hank didn’t disappoint.

“Connor,” Hank said, slow and yes, angry, and Connor flinched. “What the hell is this? And don’t try to tell me it’s Hanahaki, because those folks don’t cry fucking flowers – is this an android thing? Cough up.”

Connor shot Hank a withering look, which quickly faded when he saw the mixed anger and concern on Hank’s face. The man’s hand was still on his back, and Connor didn’t know what to do about it. He just didn’t know what to do in general. He didn’t want to talk about this.

He was still crying.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled instead, neither moving closer nor away. He swallowed again, nothing to do with flowers this time, and wished the petals trembling on his cheeks would stop falling.

“Don’t give me that either,” Hank snorted, shaking him a little. Connor’s jaw clenched as his body swayed uncomfortably, and pulled away. “You always know.”

“I _don’t!”_ Connor snapped defensively, too loud, and petals crawled up his throat again and when he coughed them up they were orange and ripped and awful and he dropped them irritably, and more fell from his eyes and he wiped those away too. “I don’t know _anything.”_

Pause.

“Alright,” Hank said after a minute, quieter and deliberately calm, and Connor glanced at him. He was still frowning, more worried than irritable now, and his eyes were on Connor’s LED, which Connor suddenly realized was spinning a quick red-yellow. “Did you see those android repair guys?”

Wary, Connor tucked his arms around himself and shook his head. He didn’t want any of them to think he wanted to cheat on Markus; they’d never forgive him, and he was on thin enough ice as it was.

He tucked his forehead against his knees and tried to force himself to stop crying. It worked about as well as he’d expected.

“It’s not Hanahaki,” he mumbled insistently. “But it presents. Similarly. I’m trying to identify the trigger, but it doesn’t… none of it…” He cut himself off, and didn’t mention Kara. “It happens- here and at home and with Markus and sometimes for _no reason at all_ and it’s not. _Consistent.”_

Another pause, and then he felt Hank slip an arm around his shoulders. He relaxed a little, somehow relieved, and only just stopped himself from leaning into it.

“You’ll get it, son,” Hank said, with unwarranted confidence. “And you don’t need to hide this shit from me. I’ll believe you.”

Connor hummed noncommittally, unwilling to voice his doubt. Hank ignored him.

“It might not be romantic,” Hank said after a while, slow and thoughtful. Connor glanced up at him, and he was studying Connor, eyes dark with something unspoken and indecipherable. “But it might still be somethin’ about repressed feelings. That’s got you written all over it.”

“Shut up, Hank,” Connor mumbled. But he didn’t disagree.

The flower petals stopped falling.

* * *

Connor intended to bring the idea up to Kara at their next meeting – they’d been through five, once every two weeks like clockwork, with very little progress despite the various approaches they’d used on their separate circumstances and incidents. But he was waylaid by the fact that Kara was already crying when he arrived, quietly, hot thirium abandoned and a small pile of yellow and white accumulating on the table in front of her.

He slowed down, faltering at the door, examining her more – she looked ragged and worn, as usual, and angry, nose scrunched and shoulders tense as she ducked down, rubbing at her face harshly. Kara looked up sharply as he arrived, eyes wide and a touch hysterical, and he sat down across from her without passing by the counter first, concerned.

He opened his mouth. Kara beat him to it.

“Am I a bad mom?” she blurted out, high and quick and frantic. Connor paused to process that, head cocking.

“No,” he said after a moment, puzzled. He glanced down at her pile of nearly intact lily petals – a symbol of motherhood, his HUD had informed him. “By all indications you’ve looked after Alice extremely well, particularly considering the circumstances.”

Kara looked unconvinced. “I could have done more. I could have, we could have stayed in Canada, or- or I could have gotten her away sooner, or made sure she had more time to meet with her friends for support, or-”

“Kara,” Connor interrupted, concerned, and leaned forward a little. “Did something happen?”

Kara stared at him for a moment, as if noticing him for the first time, and then took a deep breath, her shoulders shuddering a little.

“Alice yelled at me,” she said at last, in an astonishingly small voice.

Connor blinked. _“Alice?”_

She nodded, and, uncharacteristically, Connor thought she looked very fragile. “She- said that she didn’t need me. That she was almost as old as I am and remembers better, and doesn’t need or want a mother, and-”

And Kara was crying again, just saline cleaning solution this time, but it smeared down her face and threatened to spill from her cheeks. Connor hesitated, and then reached out, bypassing her hand to grasp gently at the sleeve of her jacket.

“You said she’s been temperamental lately,” he said quietly. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Alice needs you very much, Kara – and she loves you, too.”

Kara didn’t look convinced, but she did settle a little, breath hitching.

“Luther took her to calm down,” she mumbled, reaching up with her free hand to rub away the tear tracks. “I… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Connor didn’t know either, but he tried. “I think… it would help. If you just reminded her you cared.”

Inconveniently, he felt petals crawling up his throat again, threatening to obstruct his airway, something which had been happening more and more lately. He let go of Kara to reach up and cover his mouth, coughing and then wheezing into it, and only when he looked up again did he realize Kara was doing the same, gasping the slightest bit as she came away with half an orange lily.

He looked down again – most of a yellow rose – and then pushed it out of his mind.

“I know that’s not very helpful,” he said, shaking it away. “But you’ve done very admirably so far, Kara. Unless you’ve done something to break Alice’s trust, which I doubt, you likely just need to keep it.”

Kara took a deep breath, nodded distractedly, and finally, visibly centered herself. “Do you- have anything?” She didn’t sound hopeful, and Connor couldn’t blame her.

Connor nodded, though. “Through… unfortunate circumstances, Hank discovered the problem. He suggested that while the feelings might not be romantic, they might still be linked to repressed feelings of some kind.”

Hank had seemed to suspect something more specific than that, but he hadn’t mentioned anything, so Connor opted not to bring this up.

Kara hesitated over that for a moment, and then started nodding, slow and understanding.

“Maybe,” she conceded slowly. “But how does that help us?”

Connor shrugged.

“It’s a lead,” he said plainly. Kara deflated, and gave him a weary nod of agreement.

“It’s a lead,” she echoed tiredly.

* * *

There weren’t enough hours in a day for Kara to list everything she liked about Luther; there weren’t even enough for her to tell someone all of her favorite things about him. But this was definitely one of them: unfailingly, from the time they left Pirate’s Cove onward, she felt safe around him.

It was a very deliberate phenomenon, she knew – Luther actively _made himself_ safe, kept his voice soft and his movements slow, did everything he could to stay calm and steady. He was a big man, with dark skin, and Zlatko had taken advantage of that to use him as intimidation at every opportunity. It was one of many things that Luther still deeply resented. (Worse that no matter how hard he worked at it, there were always, always people who continued to be afraid.)

There was also, of course, Luther’s protectiveness toward first Alice, and later Kara as well; there were few lengths he wouldn’t go to in order to keep them safe. It was… a very new feeling, a relief and a worry and a warmth in one.

So she didn’t think very much of it, when Luther first slid in between Kara and Alice and the anti-android protest across the street. She tightened her grip on Alice’s hand, ignoring the girl’s mumbled complaint, and kept an eye on them. But she didn’t _worry._

Until one of them recognized Alice. Not Kara, or Luther – Alice.

“Hey! Is that one of them fucked-up kid bots?”

Alice faltered mid-step, hand tightening around Kara’s, and this time she didn’t protest when Kara tucked her closer against her side. Luther moved to be more prominent, blocking Kara and Alice the best he could, with tension ramping up in the line of his shoulders even as he kept his gaze carefully off the crowd. Discomfort was etched across his face, but he stayed steady.

Usually, that was enough and they would be able to get home without too much trouble. It might be a little tense, but they could shake it off later.

This time, however, Kara heard a jeering shout and barely looked up in time to see a broken bottle flying toward them, on track to soar past Luther and hit Alice. She didn’t even have time to think before she was in the way, and the bottle was hitting her instead.

“Kara!”

“Mom!”

It- well, it didn’t hurt, for the most part; it didn’t dig deep enough for that. But the influx of damage readings still made her wince, and she felt Luther’s arm around her shoulders as he hustled her and Alice away.

No sooner had they reached approximate safety, close to the bus stop they’d been heading for, than did Luther move around to crouch a little in front of Kara, eyes wide and concerned. “Are you alright, Kara?”

“You’re hurt!” Alice inserted first, voice high and upset, already grasping at Kara’s arm where the bottle had connected. When Kara glanced down, Alice’s eyes were big and wet with stress. “You-”

“I’m alright,” Kara assured both of them hastily, looking from Alice to Luther and reaching automatically for the former, trying to comfort her before she started crying for real. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Luther looked unconvinced, but he followed her glance down to Alice, clinging to Kara in a way she hadn’t done in months, and nodded in understanding, his expression folding into the easy calm he seemed to live in. He reached out and gently turned Kara’s arm toward him to examine it.

“It’ll heal,” he confirmed gently, a note of relief in his tone. He pressed a brief, dry kiss to her forehead, and then pulled away before the beading thirium could smear on his skin. For the first time, Kara glanced down at the injury herself. It wasn’t deep – it hadn’t even left more than a hairline crack in her chassis, so all that was damaged was the synthskin. “No more than a few days, I’d say.”

“Are you sure?” Alice pressed anxiously, rocking on her heels, all grumpy animosity momentarily forgotten. Kara softened, brushing her fingers through Alice’s hair, and Alice settled a little, but didn’t look away.

“I’ll be fine,” Kara promised firmly, keeping her eyes on Alice’s to will the girl to understand her. “I’m okay, Alice. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.”

Alice didn’t look entirely convinced – fair enough, with how differently YK models were programmed to feel pain – but she finally calmed down a little, tucking her hands behind her back and stepping back so she was no longer quite so close to Kara.

Luther looked a little more genuinely reassured, and he set his hand on Kara’s head for just a moment, gifting her a gentle smile, before he turned his attention to Alice.

“Let’s get home quickly, alright, Alice?” he suggested quietly, and Alice nodded hard enough to imitate a bobblehead.

(When Kara checked later, the scratch had been filled in with lily buds, just like Connor’s. They did not heal.)

* * *

“It could be a general lack of interpersonal relationships,” Connor suggested, frowning at the coffee cup between his hands. “You’re rather too busy with Alice to maintain a social circle of average size, and I’m…” He trailed off and shrugged, glancing up at Kara to gauge her reaction.

Kara’s demeanor usually fell somewhere in the range of ‘exhausted’ to ‘aggravated’ to ‘frazzled’. Connor had gotten used to measuring her mood before moving into the conversation, though it had surprisingly little bearing on their interactions overall, and today it certainly leaned heavily towards ‘frazzled’. Connor considered the idea that she was rather too distracted to focus on their usual intended purpose and cocked his head.

“I- maybe,” Kara blurted out belatedly, one finger tracing the rim of her cup. “It would make sense…” She glanced up to meet his eyes, and immediately looked away again. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t…”

“Is something wrong?” Connor asked when she failed to finish her sentence, politely keeping his distance as she flinched subtly. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and Connor waited patiently, swaying faintly on the chair as he watched her. After a moment, she gathered herself and elaborated, “Alice’s birthday is next month, and I’ve been trying to plan the party, but it’s not something we managed to do on any scale last year, and I’m not sure about the setup or the travel arrangements or the invitations or- or anything!”

Her voice rose noticeably as she went on, and only when people started glancing over did she abruptly drop it again, visibly embarrassed but even more frustrated. Connor blinked, and mulled that over.

“I’ll focus,” Kara promised after a beat, sounding anxious, reaching up to rub the edge of her palm over her forehead. “I’m just…”

She coughed, an increasingly familiar sound, and then coughed again, harder, going into a fit. Connor reached over and patted her shoulder, waiting for her to finish, and after a minute, a red lily came out almost whole, and she gasped, shook her head, and then shook it again.

“Overwhelmed,” Kara finished weakly.

Connor shrugged.

“We’re not making rapid or significant progress,” he pointed out, shifting just enough so he sat kitty-corner to Kara instead of directly across from her. “One lost meeting is unlikely to make substantial difference.” She stared at him. He clarified, “Would you like some help planning the logistics of the birthday party? I don’t have experience with parties either, but I could help coordinate.”

Kara stared at him for a moment or two longer, and then, suddenly, her whole body sagged, and she smiled at him, surprisingly bright and unmistakably relieved.

“Would you?” she asked, voice pitching up a little. “There’s so much I don’t even know where to begin, that would be a huge help.”

“Let’s start with that,” Connor suggested, leaning forward onto the table and holding out one hand to form a blank screen for them to share and reference. “What all needs to be done by then?”

Kara started listing off things, and Connor added them to the palm screen, and neither of them mentioned the flowers for the rest of the hour.

* * *

Eventually, of course, Connor got careless. Obviously he did; that was how Connor was. He became trusting, he became idle- and he became careless.

That was all he could think when Markus approached him one evening when Connor was spending time with him – neatening up the things Markus had allowed to become scattered and out of place, checking on the plants he’d left there, reading on the couch while Markus painted.

Then Markus sat next to him on the couch, Connor twisted to smile at him, and Markus didn’t smile back. Instead, he held out a hand between them and opened it to reveal about half a pink rose Connor had thrown away earlier.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Markus asked after a few moments of backbreaking silence, terribly gentle. Connor looked from his hand to his face, feeling frozen stiff and _cold._

The hurt on Markus’ face was unmistakable, carefully controlled as it was, and Connor’s mind filled itself with loud and roaring static.

 _“No,”_ Connor blurted out, so loud that it startled both of them and made Markus drop the rose. Connor scrambled to explain, searching Markus’ expression frantically for hints of anger or betrayal or- “No, it’s not that, I promise, Markus, it’s- it’s _not,_ it’s different-” Markus’ face scrunched up a little, looking disappointed. Connor tried harder, voice rising involuntarily. “It’s something else, I don’t, we don’t know what but Kara and I both-”

Why couldn’t he get the words out?

Then Connor was crying, whole red rose petals falling from his face, and Markus’ face went from unhappy to alarmed, one hand rising to Connor’s face, and Connor flinched back by accident.

He couldn’t breathe, he realized, his airway blocked by something large and soft coming up from his respirator, and he was coughing and he couldn’t cough _hard enough,_ his system stress making him heat up rapidly. He covered his mouth and wheezed, not wanting to look at Markus, wanting to dart away and hide but it didn’t even _matter_ anymore and _why hadn’t he just taken them outside?_

Markus’ arm slipped around his shoulders and pulled him closer, and Connor coughed and wheezed and wanted to pull away, except Markus didn’t let him. He just murmured, low and calming, “It’s okay, just breathe, I believe you-” and let Connor lean his weight against him.

Connor was still crying petals when the rose finally came up, an entire orange bloom now slightly torn and smashed from its journey out. Unusually, he coughed a few times even after it was out, worn out and uncomfortable.

Markus kept a hold of him, and Connor guiltily let himself lean into him as long as Markus would let him, catching his breath.

“It’s not that,” he forced out again as soon as he could, and this time Markus just squeezed.

“Alright,” Markus said, steady and calm, and Connor finally looked up at him. Markus looked considering, and _concerned,_ and Connor wanted to cry again. “Then what is it?” Connor opened his mouth, pushing himself up, and Markus added, “Slowly. I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor breathed, nodded, and curled up against the back of the couch, trying to organize his thoughts. Finally, he reached down to the cuff of the long-sleeved shirt he wore, and pulled it up, exposing the flower-studded bite mark to Markus for the first time.

“This happened first,” Connor explained, soft and careful. “This and a crack on my torso. I got this, um, about four months ago now, and it filled in with flowers within an hour and never healed.” He shrugged, uncomfortable, and then said unnecessarily, “It’s not a usual Hanahaki symptom, so I knew already that something was. Wrong.” He gave Markus an anxious look, knowing he was being needy and unable to help it. “I never thought it was someone else, Markus. It was never going to be someone else.”

“I believe you,” Markus said, so firmly that Connor was almost sure it was true. Then he took hold of Connor’s wrist, slow and careful, and turned it to see better. He frowned. “How did this happen?”

Connor hesitated.

“That’s not important,” he deflected. “I didn’t start coughing up flowers until a few months after the first incident, around the same time I started crying petals.” He shrugged. “There’s, um, another android displaying the same symptoms.”

“Kara,” Markus concluded, sharp as always. Connor bit his cheek unhappily, but nodded anyway, reluctant.

“And she doesn’t have enough of a social life for it to be someone else,” he added, borderline desperate. “So she knew from the start that something wasn’t right, too. We’ve been… trying to figure it out, but we haven’t had much luck.”

Which was unfortunate; both of them were getting steadily and noticeably worse, and Kara was already struggling to hide from both Alice and Luther.

Markus mulled that over while Connor held his breath, silently pleading for Markus to understand. To not be angry. Finally, Markus reached down and squeezed Connor’s hand.

“Can you tell me what you’ve guessed so far?” Markus asked, all of his attention on Connor, and Connor was so _relieved_ that he didn’t even think about holding anything back.

It took almost fifteen minutes, and when Connor finished, Markus was quiet for a while, turning Connor’s hand over in his, slow and thoughtful. He glanced up at Connor several times, various rapid-fire expressions crossing his face, and eventually, he squeezed Connor’s hand again, catching his attention.

“May I make a suggestion?” Even Markus’ voice was soft.

Connor cocked his head, puzzled. “Of course.”

“It sounds,” Markus said carefully, and Connor frowned a little, wondering why Markus was being so cautious, “as if the majority of your incidents happen when you’re showing signs consistent with the aftereffects of abuse.”

Connor blinked at him. “But I wasn’t abused.”

Not like Kara or Alice or Ralph or even Markus- Connor’s history as a machine had been entirely his own wrongdoing, and he himself had been immaterial to Cyberlife and to Amanda. Just as he should have been.

“Perhaps not the same way most androids were,” Markus allowed, and why did Markus look disappointed again? What had Connor done wrong? “But I know you have feelings about your time at Cyberlife. And you’ve never even told me your handler’s name.”

Connor opened his mouth, to tell Markus, to prove otherwise- but he couldn’t. An awful thought interrupted him. “Is it because I’m falsifying behaviors associated with abuse survivors?” he blurted out, horrified.

Markus laughed, and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, looking dismayed. Connor stared at him, and after a moment, Markus removed his hand to smile at him reassuringly, still tainted with sadness.

“No,” Markus clarified, deliberately patient. “I think it’s because you’re denying the idea that you were hurt by the things people did to you as a machine.” He paused, and when Connor just opened and closed his mouth anxiously, he added, “Think about it. I won’t push for now. But think about it.”

Still holding his hand, Markus smiled at him coaxingly, and Connor couldn’t do anything but nod.

* * *

“Put that away,” Kara said, in an unfamiliarly strict voice that made Connor startle.

He looked up to find Kara with her thirium already in hand, bag slung over her shoulder, looking unimpressed, with one eyebrow cocked up. Instinctively, he shuffled his case file closer and protested,

“Just this once, I received this one today and I believe I can-” Kara gave him a quelling look, and, sheepishly, he let his protests die off.

He put the file away. Kara sat down across from him.

“Anything?” she asked, in such a resigned and weary tone that it instantly made Connor twice as grateful for Markus’ suggestion, even as dubious as it was, just to have something to offer.

“Markus had a suggestion,” Connor started. Kara raised both eyebrows. Connor repressed the urge to pout at her. “Don’t give me that look, it was an _accident.”_ Kara rolled her eyes and waved him on indulgently. Connor huffed. _“Markus suggested_ that…” He faltered, hesitated, and started rocking in place a little, popping the lid off his cup to roll it around in his hands. “It’s…” Too late, absurdly, it occurred to him that Kara might have more reason to be annoyed with him than merely amused or incredulous.

Kara cocked her head, raising one eyebrow expectantly, and took a drink of her hot thirium. Connor internally grimaced and braced himself.

“Itmaybeoverstepping,” Connor mumbled out, quick and uncomfortable, and without looking up, continued, “But he suggested that many of my incidents have appeared when I demonstrate behavior consistent with the aftermath of… of abuse.”

There was a long pause. Connor kept his eyes on the cup lid, tapping his feet nervously on the ground. He wished he knew how mad Kara was.

He felt petals crawling up his throat and didn’t even try to swallow them down; he brought his hand up and spat up the red petals and managed,

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up- Markus suggested I think about it on my own and…” He liked Kara; he didn’t want her to have reason to dislike him.

The petals kept coming, and when he curled over to cough, he felt a hand run briefly over his head and settled down, just a little. Kara couldn’t be too angry, then, if she was- he coughed, red and orange and white, and it was a minute before he could breathe again, long and strained.

“What would make him suggest that?” Kara asked, and it was calm enough that Connor chanced a lightning-quick glance at her face, which looked almost, if he was generous, thoughtful.

He hesitated, wondering how far he could go, before answering cautiously, “Well…”

There were a couple factors, of course, his treatment at the hands of the Cyberlife engineers, the farcical performances they were sometimes fond of- but the thing was, he had never _liked_ his development team, or the Cyberlife management, or the board. Not like-

“Under Cyberlife, I had a handler,” he said haltingly. He almost told Kara her name, just to prove he could- and then he found that he just. Couldn’t, after all. “She was… technically an authority figure to me, and I… liked her.” Why was this so difficult? “I suppose her treatment of me could be considered. Questionable.”

He glanced up at Kara again, ginger and wary. She was frowning, but he recognized it; it was her thoughtful frown, contemplative and hard-at-work, not angry or upset.

“You don’t seem convinced,” Kara said at last, shrewdly. Connor could tell she was thinking more than she was saying, which made him nervous, but he elaborated anyway.

“She was the only one who _wasn’t_ overtly hostile to me at the time,” Connor defended instinctively, feeling bristly and uncomfortable. “I knew she didn’t _like_ me, but she wasn’t _cruel_ until…” He trailed off, shook the thought of whirling white cold away, and insisted, “She just… made sure I knew what she wanted and was motivated to comply.”

His defense was weaker than it should have been; he’d been thinking too much on Markus’ words over the last week.

Kara hummed, low and deliberate, and then said, “If that was what Alice said when someone asked her about me, Luther would have taken her away the first chance he’d gotten. And he’d be right to.”

Connor opened his mouth, and then closed it, feeling unjustifiably small. Kara took pity on him.

“Let’s go over your incidents from the top, and then we’ll see,” she suggested, and then, dryly, “I know a thing or two about abuse survivors.”

She coughed up a few yellow petals, and then sat beside him, and they went over his incidents from the top.

It… made too much sense, Connor concluded reluctantly.

“Does this mean I have to talk to Simon?” Connor asked, petulant. After a year and a half, Simon was still the acting therapist for a large slice of Jericho, and he was _busy._

“I believe I suggested that a while ago,” Kara said dryly, nudging him. “Come on. Even if it doesn’t help, you’ll be better off for having done it.”

Connor bit his lip. He didn’t want to take resources away from anyone who may need them more.

But that was a step for future consideration, something he could discuss with Hank or Markus or Simon himself. It wasn’t Kara’s problem, at any rate; she’d done enough just helping him guess the source of the issue.

“This doesn’t help you, though,” he noted unhappily. Kara tensed, and before she could speak, he continued, determinedly not looking up, “Same time in two weeks?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out, audibly relieved.

* * *

The flowers came too easily now. Kara didn’t like it.

It was, of course, the catch-22 of the situation, which discovering the cause of Connor’s conflict had only highlighted: it was pretty difficult to figure out what feelings were being repressed while they were _still being repressed._ The two of them had – gingerly, carefully – prodded at different possibilities, but there hadn’t been anything that they had both agreed might work, that Kara had also had any trouble at all accepting.

She had hated Todd for a long time; resented the hell out of everything Zlatko had done; she’d come to terms with the terror that had been their flight to Canada and the guilt of those left behind and accepted that she was unlikely to ever recover much more of her memory than she had already.

It didn’t help that Kara still had very little time to herself. The days she went to meet with Connor, when Luther looked after Alice on his day off, were almost the only room she had to breathe. And when she was handling Alice, she had next to no energy to think about her situation, even as it actively worsened.

More than likely, it was this frustration and growing apathy that had her pausing dinner to cough into the sink, wheezing around the flowers clogging up her throat and braced against the edge. Red and yellow half-lilies tumbled and flopped down into the half-full stainless steel, and when she felt Luther’s hand rubbing her back slowly, she didn’t even make the connection at first, leaning into him as she gasped for breath.

And then, just as she was calming down and spitting out the last of the flower petals, Luther asked, low and soft and terribly understanding, “Is it Connor?”

A few seconds passed before Kara processed that, and then she whirled towards him, wide eyes looking up to meet his. Luther looked unmistakably and openly disappointed, with the start of dawning grief – but not _angry,_ she realized, because Luther _never_ got angry at her. But-

“It’s not like that,” she rushed to reassure him, reaching up to hold onto his arms and tugging just enough to try and beg for the attention he was already giving her, voice tight with panic. “Luther, I promise, it was happening for _weeks_ before I was talking to Connor, and you know I don’t go out, you know I haven’t been talking to anyone-”

Luther’s forehead was starting to wrinkle, confusion breaking through the clearly visible haze of growing unhappiness, and she held her breath.

“What do you mean?” he asked at last, slow and hesitant, but he _believed_ her, and some days even after all this time it still felt like such a novelty.

Slowly, she showed him the still-flowered injury from weeks before. She told him about the petals that grew behind her eyes and fell when she cried. She explained how Connor had found her and why they met up at all.

And he stood there, and he listened, and Kara wondered how he thought she could ever love anyone more than she loved him.

(She knew, of course – night after night of self-loathing and frustration and misery, where she stayed up with him as he struggled to process what he’d found instead of freedom when he met Zlatko.)

“We think it’s still from repressing feelings,” she finished, searching Luther’s face for any hint of doubt, and not _finding any,_ and finally letting herself relax into a desperate sort of relief. “But not romantic ones. Connor’s turned out to be from denying that…” She wavered, because she _knew_ that Luther, of all people, would understand, but Connor would not appreciate it – and then eased up a little for Connor’s sake. “That Cyberlife had hurt him in any way.”

Connor’s Hanahaki hadn’t been cured yet, but after he talked to Markus about meeting with Simon, it had started to ease. Now, a week later, it wasn’t much more than tattered petals. They had _both_ been desperately relieved about that.

Luther visibly mulled the situation over, and just as the pot started to boil over, he moved over to the stove to finish the dinner she’d all but forgotten about. She exhaled harshly, relieved, and went to help.

Twenty minutes later, when it was done, Luther glanced up at her and said softly, “You’ll get it, Kara. Try going over it from the top again. Maybe it will help.”

There was a heavy sort of comprehension in his voice – guiltily, Kara guessed that it was from all that she’d hidden from him over the past six months. She nodded reluctantly.

“I’ll try,” Kara promised, and then, “We’ll try.”

* * *

Connor and Kara took their meeting to a park this time, on the desperate theory that a change of setting may also help them tackle the issue from a new angle. And they went over Kara’s incidents from the top.

It didn’t, as far as Kara was concerned, particularly help. It took the better part of an hour to review every one of them, break them down and pull them apart, but Kara didn’t see anything that stood out to her anew.

Well. Obviously.

But Connor, she realized, glancing up at him, seemed to have hit on a common thread; his brow was furrowed, pinching in concern, and he readjusted himself to put his legs under him on the grass, and rocked anxiously, swaying and slow. He fidgeted with the grass in front of him, rubbing and stroking.

He wrinkled his nose, glanced up at her, bit his lip. She raised her eyebrows at him, tired and resigned.

“Connor?” she prompted warily.

Connor looked back down quickly, swallowed visibly, and hesitated for a moment longer before he met her eyes deliberately, tilted his head, and said quietly, “If I may…” And this time, she noticed, he didn’t wait to be prompted before he continued. “It looks like you are having trouble with the particular toll that motherhood takes on your life.”

Kara felt instantly and irrationally guarded, and she had to push back the urge to snap. Her voice came out a little sharp anyway. “Of course, but what does that have to do with repressed feelings? I haven’t exactly hidden it.”

Connor fidgeted a little more, and then said carefully, “Such unexpected workloads, particularly ones that affect one’s personal life, can often come with feelings of resentment.”

“I love Alice unconditionally, as you well know.” Kara _did_ snap this time, and Connor jumped guiltily. Kara took a breath, forcing herself to calm. “Please explain.”

“Of course you love her,” Connor said first, gentle and deliberately soft, without looking away. “But you know better than anyone that your work is very hard on you at times, and you were not prepared for it. You’ve sacrificed quite a lot. It would be more surprising if you did not feel some sort of way about it, even if you continue to take it on without hesitation.”

A twisting sort of panic threatened to overtake Kara, and she had to bite it back, looking away from Connor as if compelled. She forced herself to take another deep breath and _think_ about it – because it did, technically, make sense. And she knew that, whatever the issue turned out to be, it would be something that she instinctively denied.

But-

But.

 _And now you’re stuck with me,_ Alice had said, low and unhappy. And Kara had denied it, because of course she loved Alice – she wouldn’t give her up for the world. And she knew with certainty that that hadn’t changed in the least, that if she could go back and change everything, that would be one thing that she did exactly the same way. But she wondered anxiously if Alice had been picking up on something that Kara herself had not yet been aware of.

It was around that point that Kara recalled, sharply, Luther’s reaction to learning about the situation – the deep and heavy understanding that had carved lines into his face when he looked at her. And she realized that Luther had figured it out much, much faster.

(It was around that point that _Kara_ realized she already knew it was true.)

“Oh, God,” she whispered, horrified. “I’m an _awful_ mother.”

“You’re not,” Connor said instantly, hasty and earnest and making Kara jump because she’d almost forgotten entirely that he was there. He was still looking at her, brown eyes intent and serious, and he continued, “As I said, it would be more surprising if you didn’t feel some way about everything you gave up so unexpectedly.”

He hesitated, and then, slow and uncertain, he gave her a small, playful smile.

“Now who needs to go see Simon?” he teased gently, and Kara had to let out a soft, raw laugh.

“Oh God,” she said again, and reached up, and rubbed plain saline tears out of her eyes. “Alice can never, ever know.”

“She won’t,” Connor promised, and then considered, and then added, quietly, “But maybe it might do you some good to… continue to have at least a little of a life of your own.”

He sounded so soft and hopeful that Kara had to laugh again, rubbing her palm across her wet cheeks again.

“Same time in two weeks?” she asked hoarsely, and Connor beamed at her.

* * *

By agreement, Connor arrived two hours before Alice’s birthday party was due to start to help set up. Kara had promised him he could stay in the background and well out of the way during the party itself, but his help was invaluable with the decorating and set-up.

Alice popped in from the backyard about ten minutes later and gave Connor a long, scrutinizing look; she’d given permission for Connor to be there, but only on Kara’s word, she was well aware. She paused to watch, admittedly a little worried about how this meeting would go.

Connor smiled at Alice uncomfortably, remaining upright and hands faltering over the set-up of thirium coolers and snacks.

“Good morning, Alice,” he said politely. “And happy birthday.” A split second’s pause, and then Connor continued, “I’m sorry for chasing you and your mother. I know it made things much worse for you.”

Alice stared at him for a moment, sharp and wary – and then, all at once, relaxed, shrugged, and said flippantly, “Mom wouldn’t’ve let you come if you were still like that. You’re friends now, right?”

“I’d like to think so, yes,” Connor confirmed, glancing at Kara, who nicely refrained from rolling her eyes at him, just giving him an exasperated look. He smiled sheepishly back.

“Good,” Alice said decisively. “Be nice to her.”

Then, without another word, she disappeared out into the yard again, probably figuring out what games she wanted to play. Kara smiled, helplessly fond, and got back to hanging up decorations.

Luther was the one in charge of gathering the last-minute items, most notably the thirium-based birthday cake and a few of Alice’s further-out friends. Consequently he didn’t arrive until half an hour before the party, when Kara and Connor had both finished most of the prep and were relaxing in the kitchen.

A gaggle of noise announced his arrival, and Kara and Connor exchanged a weary grin before Luther ushered the three YKs (two YK500s and a YK200 twelve-year-old male model) out the back door, smiling gently at their excited babble. He stared after them for a moment, eyes crinkled with amusement, before finally closing the door and turning toward Kara and Connor.

Kara grinned at him, feeling in an unusually good mood, and leaned up into it when he bent to give her a dry kiss on the cheek.

(She hadn’t coughed up a whole flower since the admission to Connor, and hadn’t choked on any petals in a day and a half; her first appointment with Simon wasn’t even for another month, but she was already _better.)_

Luther smiled against her, and then straightened up, and she followed his gaze to Connor, waiting patiently by the counter and watching with unmistakable curiosity.

“Hello,” Luther greeted after a beat, and held out a hand. “Connor, yes? Kara’s told me a lot about you.”

Connor smiled uncomfortably, bounced on his heels, and shook his hand. Kara tried and failed not to find it hilarious how deliberately feather-light both of their grips so clearly were. “I’m sure I’ve heard even more about you,” he said lightly, and Luther’s smile eased a little. Almost in time with it, Connor’s did too.

“Thank you for coming and helping,” Luther added, nodding at the living room. “I know Kara was relieved to have another set of hands around here.”

Connor relaxed a little. “It’s the least I could do,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “And Hank is always telling me I need to get out more.”

“I don’t think this is what he meant,” Kara pointed out dryly. Connor grinned a little.

“He did make an amusing face when I told him where I was going,” he admitted. “Asked why I would willingly inflict that on myself.”

Luther chuckled, glancing out the rear window where the kids were already playing. “If you’re planning on withdrawing, now is probably the time,” he noted. “The rest should be here in about ten minutes.”

Connor started a little, and gave Kara a sheepish look. “If it’s alright…?”

“Go,” Kara said dismissively, holding back from giving him the same fond look she gave Alice’s friends, and he scurried off to make himself scarce. Luther glanced at her, and then inclined his head and followed; Kara guessed that he had a few more things he wanted to say to Connor, and tried not to wonder what those were.

(Later, when they were cleaning up, Connor would tell Kara that he liked Luther; he would say he felt safe. Warmly, affectionately, Kara would agree.)

“Mom?” Alice said eventually, hours later, looking up at Kara as Kara tucked her in for the night. “I wanna grow up.”

Expecting it, Kara sighed through the wave of anxiety and smiled at her.

“According to Josh, the YK-F14 should be ready in about eight months,” she said lightly. “But I can put you on the list tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Alice beamed and nodded so fast her hair flew around her face.

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Android Whump Reverse Bang! I had an absolute glory of a time with this - I've never gotten a good chance to write a Kara fic before.
> 
> The story concept and in particular the absolutely outstanding idea of 'trauma Hanahaki' belongs to the artist ShadowedLove97/RoyalKeith, linked below!
> 
> Connor and Kara deserve to be friends.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blooming Ragged - Art Accompaniment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213746) by [ShadowedLove97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedLove97/pseuds/ShadowedLove97)




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